


Your Heart Will Go On (In My Stomach)

by TheSilverQueen



Category: Hannibal (TV), Titanic (1997)
Genre: #RudeTrip Fest, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Hannibal Cre-ATE-ive challenge, M/M, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/pseuds/TheSilverQueen
Summary: For Hannibal, the Titanic is the answer to his dreams – new hunting grounds, new places to explore, and perhaps, more exciting prey to taste. For Will, though, the Titanic is the answer to his nightmares, taking him from all he’s ever known back the place of his birth to deal with more monsters, but most especially the Chesapeake Ripper, in whom his handler has a unique interest.A Hannigram Titanic AU





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive [#RudeTrip](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/post/149709664744/september-ends-and-so-does-summer-and-with) challenge! 
> 
> You don't need to know anything about Titanic the movie to read this. I really don't stick to the plot at all. Besides the whole falling in love and maybe some nude sketches. And the Titanic sinking of course.
> 
> Finally . . . don't ask how or why Will's in Italy. Okay, I know WHY, it's cuz he ran away from the FBI and all that jazz and I know HOW (boat or something), but like . . . Suspension of disbelief, kay? They're in 1912 on the Titanic. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Friday is the last straw for Will Graham’s handler.

_Friday is the first sign for Hannibal Lecter._

Friday is the day they discover the sixth corpse, posed right in the gun range, cocky and disassembled to form a target sheet, blood drips painting a haunting trail from the front door all the way down.

_Friday is the day they begin to suspect, for sure, that he is the cause, the true cause, of the bodies dropping like the wasteful pigs they are, bleeding from the inside out and, finally, displayed with a beauty they could never hope to achieve in life._

Will’s colleagues vomit and gag and fuss. He throws away his coffee. Its taste is ash in his mouth.

_Hannibal looks at the pictures and smiles, sips his coffee, and settles down for a good read. The coffee tastes especially wonderful, today of all days._

Will has been hunting Il Mostro for almost six months, and to be honest, he and his handler are no closer to catching the monster than they had when Will had started as a consultant, his handler plucking him off the streets and putting him to work. It’s frustrating beyond belief.

_They have been hunting his Il Mostro suit for nearly a year, and are closer than they have ever been to catching him than he’s ever experienced. It’s exhilarating beyond comparison._

There are lots of words spoken. Well, yelled, actually. Will is spared most of it. He is but a consultant, a tool in the box, a mere pawn in the bigger game. And in any case, what could he say? He has no plans for the future.

_There are no words to be said, because there is no one to speak them to. Hannibal has made his contingency plans for the future a long time ago. Now, it is time to put them in action._

Pazzi emerges a few hours later, defeated and angry and deflated like a balloon, his tie twisted, his suit sweaty, his face red. He tells Will the terrible news: they are being reassigned, and no, there’s no chance of changing anyone’s mind about it.

_Hannibal makes a few discreet calls, and within a few hours, he receives the wonderful news: he has been accepted. He makes the commitment and moves forward; once in a new place, he can always change his mind._

On Monday, Will receives his assignment notice. He has two days to pack, and he has not started. Pazzi and Will are being sent to America, where a new serial killer – the Chesapeake Ripper – has wreaked havoc once or twice. He is not nearly as famous as Il Mostro, but the pictures speak of a savagery Il Mostro never showed until much later in escalation. They will liaise with the American FBI units in a goodwill gesture – a way to get them out of the way and to save face.

_On Monday, Hannibal receives the tickets he had purchased and tucks them carefully into his trunk. It is already packed, for he believes in always being prepared. It is time, he thinks, to revive the Chesapeake Ripper, for Il Mostro’s time is, perhaps for now, done. It is not a necessary measure, merely a precaution._

On Wednesday, Will arrives on the dock with Pazzi growling and muttering angrily the whole way, and stares up at the great RMS Titanic. She is large and imposing and is more intimating than pleasing. He does not want to go home to his birth country. He does not want to seek out a new serial killer. The Titanic’s historic maiden voyage is the illustration of all of his worst nightmares and the best dreams of all those in the force who wanted nothing more than to see the strange American gone.

_On Wednesday, Hannibal arrives on the dock in silence. There is no need to talk, for he travels alone, and he stares up at the great RMS Titanic. She is elegant and magnificent and he feels no fear, only pleasure, at the thought of boarding her. He has no qualms with leaving his surrogate country. He is looking forward to new hunting grounds and new prey. The Titanic’s historic maiden voyage is the answer to all of his dreams and, perhaps, the start of a new nightmare for those who would welcome a strange Lithuanian man into their midst to marvel at how he stands out._

Will Graham boards the Titanic, heart heavy. He has no idea that this will change his life forever, because he believes his life already changed by his reassignment.

_Hannibal Lecter boards the Titanic, heart glowing. He has no idea that this will change his life forever, because he believes his life already changed by a lonely night in a Lithuanian winter._

They are, of course, both very wrong.

* * *

They meet in an elegant ballroom. Hannibal is dressed at his best, because first impressions are important and the wine glass in his hand is more about symbolism than getting drunk. Will is wearing the only formal suit he owns, and it isn’t even that formal, because he already knows what kind of first impression he makes – glasses, baby face, curls everywhere, patched up clothes – and is more concerned with his drinks than his fellow guests.

And, well. Opposites attract.

“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance,” Hannibal says, polite and sweet.

Will glowers at him, radiating _GO AWAY_ so loudly he’s not quite sure how this man didn’t pick up on it. “That’s because there is no pleasure,” he snarks back, and drains another glass.

 _Rude_ , whispers on part of Hannibal.

 _Interesting_ , whispers the other.

Typically, the instinct of prey is not to challenge another predator, but to hide or run or camouflage. Not to stand ground and bite back, unless they are cornered, and Hannibal has not cornered this one yet.

“There is always pleasure to be found in any gathering,” Hannibal says, “if one knows where to look.”

That gets him a sharp glance, up and down and around, measuring and slicing and piecing together. Not like a puzzle, for no one can have all the pieces at the first meeting, but rather like a dinner setting. You find a fork and place it in the right place, then you find a spoon, then you find a knife, then you find a plate or bowl. All expected, all necessary, all laid out neatly and gleaming. No one excepts the hidden poison, though.

 _Leave me alone_ , a part of Will wants to say.

 _Come closer_ , says the other.

Will lowers his glass, his protective shield against the world. “And your name is, Mister . . .?”

“Doctor,” Hannibal says. It is not the European way, but if he is to be American, then he must adapt, no matter how strange he finds it. In America, he is a doctor first and a mister second.

That gets him a raised eyebrow, and the glass falls a little lower. The shield is beginning to crack, not under pressure, but under the inside pushing gently out. The creature is beginning to stretch the chrysalis, feeling the call of a warm spring morning as it chases away the chill of the many snowflakes.

“Mister Doctor.”

It’s said so flatly one would almost think it a statement. Hannibal knows better.

He takes the man’s hand, gently, and although he startles, Hannibal is quick to retreat, holding only the glass. “I find,” he says, as if conspiring with a friend, “that perhaps champagne will go better with the hors d'oeuvres currently being served. You might find your mood uplifted by a more appropriate choice in drink.”

“I like whiskey.”

Statement, but not fight. Hannibal would smile, but there is no need. Not with this man.

“Will!” 

Rinaldo Pazzi interrupts, as he is so good at doing. He interrupts Will’s life, Will’s sleep, Will’s eating, Will’s talking, and even Will’s reimagining of crime scenes. The only he’s bad at is interrupting crime, which is a pity, given that it is his one true job.

“I need to speak with you, sorry, good-bye,” he says, and drags Will away.

Hannibal says nothing, only inclines his head and lifts his glass in a toast of acknowledgement. It is far easier, he finds, to catch prey with silence than to bury them in words, both as a hunter of prey and a doctor of minds.

“I don’t want to see you with that man again,” Pazzi tells Will sternly, as if he were a child about to run away with a pickpocket.

“We’re on a boat,” Will says dryly. “I can’t exactly move to a new house. You insisted on first class, so I daresay we’ll meet again.” His tone says, _I’ll definitely meet him again, now that you’ve said I can’t._

Pazzi frowns. “He is _dangerous_ , Will.”

“Says the man with a gun.”

“Stay away from Hannibal Lecter, Will,” Pazzi hisses, so fierce that if his voice had been any louder he would have deafened half the hall. “Before you end up next on Il Mostro’s list.”

“I thought we were hunting the Chesapeake Ripper now.”

Pazzi says nothing. 

Will shrugs. 

Pazzi walks away, disgust on his face and his feet making a beeline for the bar.

Will rolls the name around in his mouth. “Hannibal Lecter,” he says to himself. It has a certain rhythm to it, a strange sort of beauty, familiar and unique all at once. Before, he might not have given the man even a first glance behind his glasses, but well. Never let it be said that Will has no curiosity. Or no defiance. But really, sometimes they’re one and the same.

“Excuse me,” Will says, snagging a passing waiter, “do you mind telling me where I might the quarters of a Mister – I mean, Doctor Hannibal Lecter?”

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I hope to finish this in a couple days cuz #Hannictober's coming up and I don't want to sit unfinished cuz then it'll never be finished, so look for an update soon.
> 
> Many thanks to [cassiespoeticnonsense](http://cassiespoeticnonsense.tumblr.com/) for helping me work out the kinks and bounce ideas around, you're a gem, darling. 
> 
> Comments and kudos make my world go round! You can also come say hi on [tumblr](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com) :D 
> 
> And yes, that was a blatant Dr. Strange dialogue stealing there. You can blame [this](http://vulcanplomeeksoup.tumblr.com/post/151168090252/lovecrimecat-vulcanplomeeksoup) cuz we all knew it was coming.


End file.
